


Ysmir, Son of Orkey

by NaZWin



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: ...Yet., Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, I'm not dead!, Jealousy, Minor Character Death, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Secrets, Sort Of, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-13
Updated: 2018-02-13
Packaged: 2019-03-17 16:28:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13662831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NaZWin/pseuds/NaZWin
Summary: At the beginning of the Fourth Era, the rebel Stormcloaks denounce the religion of the Imperial Cult for their surrender of their patron Gods, the mighty Talos. But was the war begins to reach its end after the capture of the rebel leader, the winged creatures of myth reenter their role in the world, with one sole purpose; to herald the return of Alduin the World-Eater, the God of Death and Rebirth, as well as the Last Dragonborn. Though many believe this hero of legend to be one of the people, none suspected him to be one of the spurned and Ostracized, an Orc.This is the story of the Dragonborn.





	Ysmir, Son of Orkey

**Author's Note:**

> Hello!
> 
> First off, I've always thought Skyrim was good but oddly lacking in roughly every aspect, from the rich culture of the Nordic Pantheon to interesting faction choices, even small decisions that didn't really need to go anywhere. Alas nothing is ever perfect, so I've decided to add what I thought would spice things up, Jarrin Root style!
> 
> Any constructive criticism is always welcome, as this is my second fanfic.

Crackling of the nearby torches and thunderous boom of a storm filled the main hall, creating a flicking hue upon grey stones and mortar which greatly dimmed the entire room. Breath soon grew visible as a puff of white fog while the rain pelted the very walls like a ceaseless volley of arrows being cast from the heavens. Each drop seemed to reverberate through every inch of the facility down to the holding cells, pulling minor complaints from the inmates about the water that bleeds through their walls, ultimately drowned out by the shuffling of the remaining guards.  


“By the Gods, does this weather ever let up? I’ll never understand why you Nords willing live in a land with endless blizzards and storms…” spoke an Imperial guard, her voice trembling and her teeth chattering due to the icy draft. Her emerald eyes remained focused on the game before her, refusing to let it leave her sight while she crossed her arms to put her fingers within her armpits in an attempt to warm them.  


A short but hardy chuckle left her blonde, pale, and much larger colleague, whose eyes also never left the board. By the way his brows furrowed the longer he stared and his hand hid his mouth, it was clearly obvious that he was searching for his next move. The wrinkle upon his face soon faded from his forehead as he shifted in his seat with a small smirk, moving an ivory piece in victory before crossing his arms. Afterwards, his demeanor becomes relaxed after such mental strain, offering his partner to take her turn. “We’re not the only ones who lay claim to the lands here, y’know? Besides, you’ll never get used to it like my people if you continue to whine like a child.”  


“Do the Orcs really count though? After all, they’re all just Daedra worshipping savages…” she questioned, ignoring the slight insult to search vigorously for a fault within his strategy. A small growl and grumble escaped her slight darker lips, a small grimace enveloping her face before she lightly flicked her most valuable piece of volcanic glass, earning a full-blown laugh this time as well as a quick shake of the head. “I only let you win because you’re the captain, anyways.”  


The laughter soon died down, leaving the room in relative silence as the captain fixed the game back to its original state, only to sternly look upon his subordinate, “Over the many years I’ve been in the Legion, I’ve noticed that the Greenskins make exceptional soldiers and smiths, never ones to complain of the situations or locations they are sent to defend and hold. You do best to set aside your prejudices, painting every Orc with a single stroke, Cinia…”  


“Sorry Captain Kjald. I didn’t mean-… I only meant those that become bandits or prisoners,” Cinia corrected, scratching her head and averting her gaze similar to a young woman hiding a secret from her father.  


With his point having been made against her ignorance, Kjald cleared his throat before returning to his calm mood. “The Orc within the isolation cell isn’t such a person, despite his previous acts. Besides, you should be painting my homeland. Most so-called artists in the Cyrodiil never truly accentuate the heart of ice hidden behind the beauty, since they stay in their cities all their lives.”  


The near sudden change of bearings normally would have left the soldier in a cold sweat, though the actual temperature made it impossible. Fortunately, the nonsensical suggestion brought back the sense of light-heartedness, leaving her in the opportune time to jab back at the Nord. “It’s hard at all actually, they just need to talk to any Nord woman they come across.”  


Once again, the sound of heavy rain and crackling flames surrounded the two, the ranking officer staring down his subordinate. Cinia immediately jolted in her seat as he slammed his fist onto the tabletop, making them both burst into laughter. It wasn’t until several minutes later when they realized every soldier watched quizzically. Now the embarrassment rested upon the Captain’s shoulders, making him rise to his feet and retrieving his gleaming shield and sword, both adorned with silver, which rested beside the table to address the rest of the crew. “You should probably get some rest Soldier; we make for Solitude with the prisoners and, due to the structural integrity, this dungeon is to be abandoned.”  


“Yes, sir,” she remarked, swiftly standing at attention with a salute before making her way for the barracks. A single comment from her superior continued to catch her attention however, making her pause within the doorway and turn back to Kjald who held his steel Imperial helm against his hip, a brow being raised in intrigue. “Sir, if the Orc is who we think, how isshe not one of the others?”  


A small sigh escaped the Captain before he hung his head to pinch the bridge of his nose. He had took several seconds of careful thought before flicking his wrist away and shaking his head, fully knowing of the incoming ridicule that will ensue. “Call it a hunch in good faith.”  


“A hunch in good faith…?” Cinia stated with every word dripping with disbelief, similar to a loose stone on a stormy night like this. The look she held a similar emotion to punctuate how ridiculous his answer was.  


“Yes,” he retorted, unimpressed by her response, “He confessed to everything when we spoke alone, hiding her guilt behind a convincing mask. He’s also hiding something else, though I can’t put my finger on it.”  


All Cinia could do was cock her head aside, her dark olive skin creasing in even further confusion, making her lean against the doorway, “If it’s potentially dangerous, maybe we should interrogate him to avoid any possible incidents? Or shall we reserve that for Tul-.” Her sentence was cut short to the sound of rolling thunder, Kjald becoming a statue tilting his head with his ear perking up, listening intently to whatever noises that came from the outside. She did the same, noticing the faint though prominent snapping of trees in the distance following the returning thunderclap.  


The stomachs of every guard sank at the sight of the stone ceiling cave inward and a large breach centered upon the wall sprout water shook the very prison to its core. Everybody within trembled in place before falling to the ground, especially after something rather large collided with the upper floors. Ringing filled their ears from the crash, a mighty roar of rushing water along drowned screams echoing from above having left battle-hardened Legionnaires turned to frightened kittens. Deep in shock, Cinia couldn’t reply to whatever command that had obviously been issued, shaking her head once she noticed those she called her brothers-in-arms made their way for the nearest exit, the waters breaching the roof and the clattering of the board piece hitting the ground dulling her over-sensory. Several footsteps rumbled through the corridor behind her, immediately making Cinia curl up and cover herself to the best of ability, lest she'd get trampled to death by the rush of fear-stricken men.  


Finding a hand upon her shoulder, Kjald firmly held her up against the wall, snapping his fingers as to get her attention and even flicking ice cold water onto her face to get her fully awake. The soft ringing in her ears soon began to fade as she was aided to her feet, the tone of his voice more steady than panicked from what she could tell. “Wh-What happened? Where is everybody else?” she stammered out softly, softly hissing as her chest began to ache as the taste of iron persisted.  


His words weren’t clear at first but what Cinia did hear did drag her back to reality, “…storm, the cowards! Come now, we have to release the prisoners before we’re swept into the river. By Ysmir, nobody deserves to die in a watery grave…"  


“Sir?”  


“You heard my soldier, let’s move!” he commanded, hoping she’d keep up despite the injuries. Cinia’s equilibrium had been lost once her looked upon the stone walls which twisted to suit the leaning tower, the two finding themselves bracing against the walls once they reached the cells. In truth, they didn’t wish to allow the lowest scum of this barbaric land a means of escaping, but compassion drove their very action. A heavy sigh left Kjald’s mouth as he pulled a key from his pocket, handing it over and tilting his head towards the several cells, his own sights turning to the isolation cell’s stairs.  


Sounds of heavy metal screeching, hollering convicts wanting freedom, and flowing water filled the room swiftly, though it didn’t bother Kjald in the slightest as he made his way to the top of the steps, grabbing the nearest torch to light the dark abyss. The unsettling appearance of the infamous orcish war maiden had seemed to not left an impression on the Nord, watching honeymoon eyes study his stance while she backed away from the cell bars in self-defense.  


“Sir,” the faint voice of the injured colleague cut through the silence, replacing the reverberating flowing water that finally reached the cells.  


Kjald ignored Cinia’s call at first, waving her off as he spoke down the down stairway, “We’re releasing all the prisoner’s, including you. Don’t make us regret our generosity, Orc.”  


“Sir!,” Cinia wheezed, her back brushed against his own pulling his attention. Despite their armor and weapons, the two had found themselves surrounded, the eyes of every liberated inmate intensely staring with makeshift weapons within their hands.  


It was a matter of seconds until the crowd descended upon Kjald and Cinia, raspy roars of vengeance bellowing towards them. Narrowly dodging the thrusts of small blades, Cinia slashed wildly with the rest of her strength, swiftly dispatching three before meeting her demise with a knife in the back. Kjald let out a battlecry at the sight of his fallen comrade, expertly blocking blow after blow with a shield, carefully striking and thrusting at the smallest openings to survive through attrition. But the mob soon over ran the strong nord warrior, ripping the shield from his hands before tackling him to the ground, repeatedly stabbing once the Captain had lost control of the fight.  


"Do you think we should release the Orc? He probably be of some help," the Redguard of group stated, jokingly as he searched the barely breathing man.  


"Nah, lets leave the orcish trash for the skeevers and get the hell out of here," the rest chuckled, before making their way to an alternate exit they had discovered, afraid of going the way the two came.  


Rumbling of the steel bars below would be the last thing Kjald would hear as the chilling waters washed over him and let out his final breath.


End file.
